


You Weren't There

by kaze_chan



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Brotherhood, Episode: s03e01 Spoils of War, Family, Gen, Season/Series 03 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-06 00:08:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6728872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaze_chan/pseuds/kaze_chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four years. Four years without his easy charm helping to negotiate with difficult people. Four years without his expert marksmanship providing much needed cover fire during battle. Four years without his skillful medical knowledge to treat the many wounds. Four years without Aramis, their friend and brother.</p><p>The Musketeers must mend some fences and clear the air between them when Aramis rejoins the group.</p><p>Just to be safe Spoilers for the first 3 episodes of season 3, but this takes place near the end of episode 1.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Weren't There

**Author's Note:**

> I surprised myself with this, it only took me a week to write (so any mistakes are entirely mine, even though I've combed through it three times before posting).
> 
> I've only seen the first three episodes and don't consider this to have to many spoilers for season 3 but it was inspired by the first two episodes. I loved the idea to skip forwards four years, but I would have liked to have a little bit more tension between the four when they reunited.
> 
> Although to be faire, in Canada 1-hour tv shows are really only 45 minutes to make room for the commercials, so the network hacks off 15 minutes of precious Musketeers footage EVERY EPISODE (gasp), that they have deem "none essential". For all I know, there could have been an extra scene somewhere in there that covered this.
> 
> And yes, I'm still working on my prequel story so keep an eye out for that.

“We camp here,” Porthos’ loud voice carried up towards Aramis and d’Artagnan who rode at the front, startling both riders momentarily. D’Artagnan halted his horse and turned in his saddle to meet Porthos eye before turning his attention to Athos, scrutinizing his Captain very carefully.

Aramis was slower to turn, his body stiff from the earlier battle and the subsequent long hours in the saddle, both of which he was no longer accustomed to. His two friends were locked in some sort of silent battle as Porthos stared at Athos, his brow frowned in determination, while Athos calmly returned the gaze, seemingly unfazed.

“I believe it is the Captain who normally decides such things,” Athos commented with a slightly raised eyebrow in what Aramis could only assume was amusement. “The next town is only a few hours ride."

Aramis watched the exchange with curiosity. In all the years of their friendship, Athos had always been their defacto leader, even before he was appointed Lieutenant or Captain, and it had always been he who had chosen where to set up camp, while he and Porthos had always been quite content to let him make the decisions.

“And it will be there in the morning,” the bigger man replied, his tone brokering no argument.

The two lapsed back into silence as the battle of wills continued, Aramis unsure what was going on but one glance at d’Aratagnan told him he was the only one not privy to the inner conversation currently taking place as the Gascon now sat straight up in his saddle, his shoulders tense.

“Should you be talking to your Captain this way?” Athos asked casually, though despites the words there was no bitterness in his voice.

Porthos, however, squared his shoulders, staring down his Captain in a way Aramis had rarely ever seen before. “If d’Artagnan were riding beside you, he would have made us stop hours ago.”

“You’re probably right about that,” Athos admitted after a heartbeat, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Both Porthos and d’Artagnan nodded, easing in their mounts in a way that made Aramis wonder what didn’t he know.

D’Artagnan turned his mount, and steered off the road to their right, presumably to scout out for a possible location.

Aramis turned his attention back to their captain, but his curious gaze was only met with a neutral and unreadable expression before Athos turned his horse off the road in the same direction d’Artagnan had gone, Porthos following close behind.

When they had fought side by side earlier, it had almost seemed like only days had passed since he had left for the monastery, but as he watched his brothers pass him, the four year gap stretch out for all to see much like a canyon. What used to be four brothers, was now three.

Four years ago, he could read each one of them like an open book; each movement, nod, wince, scowl or smile. But now as he fell in line behind Porthos, he realised that he had not understood a thing that had transpired between the three.

After a few minutes of trampling through the woods, they came to a small clearing where d’Artagnan had already dismounted from his horse and was busy moving a few branches into a pile, no doubt for the fire. Aramis slid from his horse with considerable less grace than he was once known for, and winced as he straightened his back, his muscles not used to ridding in a saddle anymore.

He led his horse towards the same tree d’Artagnan had tied his mare, and set to work collecting branches to feed the fire the Gascon was hard at work starting. He was about to ask him what they planned to eat when he noticed the boy's attention was fixed on Athos, who was still mounted. As the Captain slowly swung his leg around, Aramis could have sworn he had seen a flash of pain in his eyes before it quickly disappeared, easily replaced by his well-known expressionless mask.

Porthos quickly held out a hand to steady the man once both feet hit the ground and Aramis suddenly realised Athos must be injured, that’s why Porthos had called to set up camp and why d’Artagnan had not questioned it. He watched Athos carefully, trying to determine the injury, but found that his years at war had changed much of his mannerisms, no doubt his new position of command also contributing.

The former Comte had never been able to shed the years of training he had received as a child, even when he was well into his drinks, and Athos had always held himself high with a demeanor that demanded respect coupled with a very cultured and rich vocabulary that was rarely seen in soldiers. But what Aramis now saw was a true leader, a man who commanded a regiment. A war hero.

They all were. Much as he tried to distance himself from news of the war, he found he couldn’t tune it out when people talked about the great war heroes defending King and country. Everywhere in town people talked about the brave Musketeer Captain Athos and his two lieutenants Porthos and d’Aratagnan, and how they led their men to victory against nearly unbeatable odds.

He watched as Athos made his way towards their makeshift camp while Porthos took both horses, searching for any signs of injury. He was certain the man must be hurt, but the Captain gave no indication, although Aramis was well aware of Athos’ unnatural ability to hide his own discomfort.

“Are you injured Atos?” Aramis asked as Athos approached him, “I may not have continued my combat practices, but I assure you my medical skills have not diminished any.”

Athos looked up, about to say something when Porthos’ voice cut in from across their camp.

“We’re fine, we don’t need your help."

D’Artagnan and Athos exchanged a quick glance before turning their attention on Prothos, the bigger man busying himself with unsaddling the horses and not bothering to look in their direction.

“Thank you Aramis,” Athos answered while still studying Porthos, his tone well-guarded. “But it would seem we are not in need of medical attention.”

Aramis didn’t miss the fact they were using the term we, as if they were now a unit in everything they did.

But Aramis wasn’t so easily brushed off. He knew Porthos was angry with him, his curt answers could not be mistaken for anything else, but he had never been afraid of his friend’s tempers before, and he saw no reason to be now.

“Perhaps you would permit me to determine that,” he insisted, giving Porthos his warmest smile in the hopes of reconciling with his friend. “It would do no one any good for the Captain of the Musketeers to become ill.”

“We needed you then Aramis. We needed you then and you weren’t there,” he roared back suddenly, making everyone flinch. “You weren’t there when we watched our brothers get slaughtered. You weren’t there when we lost half the regiment in Bourgeois, when we spent months soaked to the bone in Calais,” he clenched his fists, unable to keep his emotions at bay any longer.

“Porthos,” Athos warned softly, but the bigger man didn’t turn from the marksman.

“No ‘Thos, we needed him, and he wasn’t there. How about when d’Artagnan got shot, and we were days away from any village?” D’Artagnan shifted uncomfortably, bringing a hand to his mid-section, frowning at the memory. “Or when I was captured in the attacked at Borneau?.........or two months ago when ….”Porthos words trailed off, as if he had a hard time saying them out loud.

The entire camp descended into silence, a shadow passing between the three war heroes at the shared memory, as Porthos’ eyes finally locked with Athos. “I can’t do this again Athos, and I know you can’t either.”

Aramis’ breath caught in his throat. He had spent countess nights awake in prayer, gripped in fear for his friend’s safety. The stories he heard in the village had eased his mind a little, the knowledge that his friends were more than skilled against the Spanish, but to hear that his brothers had narrowly escaped death numerous times while he was isolated in a monastery shook him to his core.

They had needed him and he had abandoned them. Porthos had been the only one to say it out loud but the accusation was there in both d’Artagnan and Athos’ eyes the few times they had met his. They had been careful with the information they’d given him when they had had the time to talk and Aramis had not been sure why. He now had his answer.

“Excuse me,” the former monk rose unsteadily to his feet, doing his best to keep his voice from shaking, “perhaps I will be of better use elsewhere.”

Though it was getting dark and there really was nowhere else to go, nobody moved to stop him as he made his way towards the woods. Perhaps these past four year really had cut a rift too deep that could never be mended. He silently berated himself for thinking that things could simply return to how they were before. Before the war that he was partially to blame for started.

They watched their friend’s back retreat into the tree line, the slump shoulders telling them exactly how hurt the man was, but knowing that he needed some time alone as much as they did. It had not been an easy day for any of them. They had gone from a difficult and bloody battle where half of the remaining regiment had been cut down, to reuniting with Aramis to save the monastery and the orphans. Now they had received orders to return to Paris without so much as a rest.

Porthos slumped to the ground on Athos’ right, all the adrenalin leaving him tired and exhausted. “I didn’t mean to…… it’s just… we finally got used to living without him and now….” He felt Athos’ hand rest on his shoulder in a sign of understanding and comfort.

Four years. Four years without his easy charm helping to negotiate with difficult people. Four years without his expert marksmanship providing much needed cover fire during battle. Four years without his skillful medical knowledge to treat the many wounds. Four years without Aramis, their friend and brother.

He remembered well those first few weeks after they rode out to Douai, just to be turned away by the abbot. A somber atmosphere quickly descended over the entire regiment as they rode out to the front line to meet the Spanish army before they could advance on French soil and he was alone to keep d’Artagnan’s spirits up after the lad was forced to leave his newlywed wife behind all the while ensuring Athos remained afloat after losing Milady a second time. He never spoke of his inner most feelings for his wife but Porthos knew his Captain had been devastated when she had left before the sun set, leading to their missed meeting. He hadn’t thought for a second that Athos would have gone to England but perhaps he would have asked her to stay in Paris with him instead. Regardless, it seems it wasn’t meant to be, no matter how much they might have wished it.

“I’ll talk to him,” Athos offered, using Porthos’ shoulder as leverage to help him to his feet while holding his left arm close to his body. Instinctively the bigger man held out his arm to help steady his friend.

“Thank you Porthos,” Athos whispered before heading in the same direction Aramis had taken just moments before.

D’Artagnan sat quietly across from him, eying the bigger man with slight apprehension.

“What whelp?” he asked not looking up from the fire.

“When I first met you three, there was such a close bond between you I couldn’t understand. I mean you were all so different; Athos, a man of high moral standard and birth, drank so much I doubt he knew day versus night, Aramis, a man with Spanish blood, slept with any woman who would have his company and you, a man from poor family, gambled and fought in bars and taverns.” He waited till the other looked up, meeting his eye. “But I now know that’s what drew you all together. You all were alone until you became friends, brothers, and believe me I am the better for it. You have all been brothers to me when I had no one. Porthos, we were a family once. I know you’re angry, so am I but Aramis was family, please don’t forget that.”

Porthos sat in silence, letting d’Artagnan’s plea wash over him. It felt good to hear that he was not the only one angry with Aramis, although he knew Athos held a little resentment towards their brother as well but Captain Athos had done what he had always done, push his own feelings and well-being aside and concentrated on the task at hand, although every once in a while, Porthos had been able to see through the cracks. One night in the first few months after a particularly difficult battle that left many men dead or wounded, themselves not excluded, Athos had made the comparison between themselves and a horse with a broken leg. They either had to learn to survive with three working legs or die.

They had chosen to survive.

**

It didn’t take long for Athos to find his missing comrade, even as darkness descended. He had known where to find him the moment he heard the sound of flowing water, and after a few minutes had come to a small creek, who’s current trickled slowly through the wood giving the otherwise silent forest a calm atmosphere.

“May I?” Though Athos had taken a seat beside him before Aramis had the chance to respond, the marksman still gave a nod.

The two sat in silence, listening to the trickling water but the silence was not nearly as heavy as it had been at the camp. Aramis valued the friendship he shared with each of his brothers, but the relationship with each was different. Porthos shared his love of life and his passion, d’Artagnan shared his sense of adventure and eagerness, and Athos shared his deepest emotions when it came to the heart. Of all of them, it was Athos with who he was on common ground when it came to love and loss, and it was always Athos that understood his actions or decisions, no matter how odd or random they might seem.

At first glance many saw then as opposites, but when it came to the heart, they really weren’t. The only real difference between them was the way they reacted to things; Athos kept it all inside, hiding being a well-constructed mask of indifference he had spent years perfecting to keep everyone at arm’s length while Aramis wore his heart on his sleeve for all to see, his easy charm pulling everyone to him and lived passionately in all things. Deep down they had very similar moral standards and had made it their life long goal to be the hand of justice where ever it was needed.

Athos waited patiently while Aramis continued his silent prayer, the well-worn rosary beads sliding effortlessly through his fingers just the same as he remembered.  
“I was selfish,” Aramis spoke at last, keeping his gaze fixed ahead. “I always believed the decision to leave was God’s will but now I see it was simply my own attempt to escape the mess I created. I abandoned my brothers in their hour of need.”

Athos could say nothing to contradict the man but knew he wasn’t meant to. Aramis simply needed to clear his mind and give voice to everything that troubled his soul, something Athos understood all too well.

“He’s not angry Aramis,” he carefully explained, trying to find the right words to properly describe how they all felt. “He’s just hurt. This war has not been easy and your presence has been sorely missed on more than one occasion but we accepted your decision and did not hold it against you.”

“Only for me to throw it all at the first sign of a fight,” Aramis finished, finally understanding why Porthos was so upset. “I thought I knew my place in life, but now I find I’m not sure I’m worthy of the Musketeer’s pauldron.”

“We’ve all made mistakes Aramis but we’ve always forgiven each other. We are family, we are brothers. Do not hold Porthos’ words against him, you know he didn’t truly mean them, however you shouldn’t have push him as you did,” Athos warned.

Aramis nodded, admitting his mistake in forcing the confrontation with Porthos. “What happened two months ago?” he wondered out loud, needing to know what had caused his three brothers to exchange such somber glances.

Athos’ face gave nothing away but he turned his gaze to the night sky and for a moment Aramis didn’t think he would answer.

“We’re at war Aramis. We spent every day of the past four years hoping to see the light of another day and we’ve seen many of our friends injured, ourselves not exempted.” He stood, though the motion lacked the usual grace and fluidity the swordsman was known for. “Come, we shouldn’t linger too long from camp, the risk of Spanish spies is too great in this area.”

And just as suddenly, Athos pulled on the mask of Captain and Aramis couldn’t help but admire how well the new position suited him. He got to his feet as well, replacing the rosary safely underneath his shirt, not missing the fact that Athos had not answered his question. “You’ll have me back, Captain?”

“Once a Musketeer, always a Musketeer, you know that better than any of us,” he warped his right arm around Aramis’ shoulders pulling him in closer.

“It seems I just needed to be reminded,” Aramis chuckled.

Athos pulled his left arm closer to his body, doing his best to hide the wince of pain the movement caused.

“Had we known what it took, we may have been tempted to bring the Spanish to your doorstep sooner,” he joked, relieved to see the small smile pull at his brother’s lips.

The fire was roaring by the time the two men made it back to the camp, and only d’Artagnan looked up to meet his Captain’s eye, though Athos could tell Porthos was following their movement from the corner of his eye.

“We should all get some rest, it’s been a long day,” Athos announced after they had finished their meager meal in relative silence, hoping that perhaps a good nights sleeps would help ease the tension.

He partially listened as the other men quickly set up the guard rotation, noting with a small smile that he had been excluded, at d’Artagnan’s insistence this time. Feeling suddenly drained and exhausted, he made his way towards his bedroll beside d’Artagnan as Porthos settled by the fire to take first watch. He felt a pang of guilt when he noticed Aramis set his bedroll opposite the others, putting some distance between them but he understood it was the marksman way of giving Porthos some space.

**

Aramis was watching the sun rise, his rosary sliding through his fingers as he recited his morning prayers, an old habit that had flourished in his four years at the monastery, when d’Artagnan began to stir awake. The Gascon had done the watch before and so it was with some surprise that Aramis watched him sit up and rub the sleep for his eyes.

When he noticed Aramis sitting on a log, a few paces from their camp, he made his way over to him bringing his weapons belt with him, a new habit they had acquired at war it seemed.

“I’ve always thought God was the most present when you watched the sun rise.” Aramis explained as the Gascon took a seat next to him. “It’s as if He is the sun, bringing light to the world and touching everything before him.”

D’Artagnan nodded, sometimes having felt the same on the battle field when they had been lucky to see the light of another day.

“I’ve missed you Aramis,” d’Artagnan whispered, happy to have a few minutes alone with his friend.

“And I have missed you, all of you,” he answered sincerely.

They sat in silence, both watching the sun rise and enjoying each other’s company, and Aramis felt like the missing piece of his soul had finally been found after four years of looking for it in the wrong place. But there was still something that caused him to feel uneasy, and though he could probably piece it together himself, he needed to know.

“What happened to Athos, two months ago?”

He watched closely as d’Artagnan visibly tensed, the events that transpired clearly a source of anguish for his friend, and once again it seemed as if his question would go unanswered before d’Artagnan cleared his throat, turning his attention to the sunrise.

“For months our numbers had been dwindling and it seemed as if everywhere we went Spanish soldiers were lying in wait, ready to attack,” d’Artagnan started explaining. “Athos suspected Spanish spies must have infiltrated the ranks, but the generals dismissed him, saying it was his lack of experience that was to blame, and so we doubled our guards, but still our regiment encountered the Spanish more frequently than anyone else’s and with more casualties. Only when Athos moved the camp without advising the generals did we have a reprieve for the attacks,” he paused, almost lost in the memory. “Two months ago we sent a missive to Treville informing him of the potential spy, but before Athos received an answer we were set upon by a large regiment of Spanish."

D’Artagnan pulled his legs closer to his body, resting his arms on his knees mush like he used to do when they had first met. “Their attack was relentless but it was different than all the other battles, the Spanish soldiers had only one goal,” he took a deep breath turning to meet Aramis’ gaze, “to kill the Captain of the Musketeers. By the time we figured it out, it was almost too late."

Aramis’ couldn’t keep the shock from his face as he suddenly understood. “They meant to kill Athos.”

D’Artagnan simply nodded, “they nearly succeeded. I could see him across the camp locked in combat, expertly holding off several soldiers but it was only a matter of time, even for someone as skilled as Athos. We tried to reach him when we figured out their plan, but by then the Spanish soldiers had already pushed him back from the rest of us. I tried to push my way through but there were so many soldiers and I could only watch as one of their rapiers finally found purchase, slicing across his back from the left shoulder.”

Aramis clenched his fist, the image of Athos being felled in battle in such a manner dancing across his eyes.

“My heart sank when I saw him fall to one knee,” he continued quietly, “afraid that I was about to see him die and I could do nothing to stop it. Then out of nowhere Porthos was there cutting down the Spanish with such brutality, that for a moment I didn’t recognise him.”

He could tell it was very difficult for d’Artagnan to relive this particular moment and he quickly enveloped him in a hug, wishing to offer him the support he had not been able to then but also needing to feel his brother’s presence.

“It was another two days before Treville sent us much needed reinforcements, but Athos’ injury was sever and for some time we feared he might lose the use of his arm. Porthos took it hard, and he has since doubled his efforts to protect Athos, staying by his side all the time like a personal body guard.”

“And Athos lets him?” he asked as he released the younger man, though he already knew the answer.

D’Artagnan chuckled, “I think Athos realised he didn’t have much of a choice. He’s healing well given the circumstances, but his shoulder still hurts from time to time, though he does his best to hide it from the regiment.”

“I should have been there. I should have been by your side d’Artagnan,”Aramis acknowledged, hoping to reconcile with his youngest brother.

D’Artagnan reached for Aramis’ hand, hold it tightly in his. “I cannot say that I wished you had been there on the war front, but I can say that I did wish for you to be there with us. I forgive you Aramis, just promise me you’ll not abandon us again.”

Aramis smiled, “You have my word, as God is our witness. Now I wish to know if all the grand stories of France’s great war heroes is true.”

The two sat for some time, d’Artagnan sharing some of their war time adventures with Aramis while they watched the sun climb. Eventually Porthos started to stir but Athos only woke when the other man gently shook his shoulder, something unusual in itself since the former Comte was not known to be a heavy sleeper and just the sound of the others moving would have been enough to wake him before. Aramis added this new piece of information to the list of small things that have changed in the past four years, and concentrated instead on dismantling their camp, noting from the corner of his eye that their Captain was moving more slowly than yesterday, taking great care to stretch his left arm and shoulder.

Not wanting to make the same mistake as yesterday, he gave Porthos a wide berth allowing the other man to make the first move whenever he was ready.  
“Is there anything you wish me to do, Athos?” Aramis eventually asked, feeling a little out of place as the other three moved in a practiced motion, rapidly gathering their things to leave.

“You can help me saddle the horses,” Porthos spoke looking up at him, his tone lacking any bitterness form the day earlier, “if you remember how, that is.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Aramis answered without hesitation, his heart filling with joy as he followed Porthos.

There was so much he wanted to tell his friend, but Aramis knew an apology would not be well received and there really were no words to express how deeply sorry he felt to have caused his brother so much grief. As they saddled the horses, Aramis noting they started with the Captain’s, he realised Porthos had been solely responsible for the safety of the two others, and he should really be thanking the bigger man for ensuring their survival thus far.

“I’m sorry, about yesterday I mean.” So caught up in his own reflections, Aramis wasn’t sure if it was his mind playing tricks on him or if Porthos had spoken.

Seeing Aramis’ puzzled look, Porthos stopped what he was doing and gave the other man his full attention. “I mean it ‘Mis, I’m glad to have you back brother.”

Aramis felt the tears well in his eyes at Porthos’ words, grateful to have the other man’s acceptance. “It is I who should apologize. I deserve your anger my friend.”

Porthos shook his head, “Nah, it’s just been a long four years. Besides,” he added with a wide grin, “with you gone, we no longer had to listen to someone complain about his hat getting dirty. So it wasn’t all bad.”

Aramis grinned, hearing the other two snickering at Porthos’ joke.

Four years may have been the longest years in his life, but they did have a purpose, even if he had misunderstood God’s intentions. His heart felt feather light as he mounted his horse next to his brothers and as he kissed the gold cross that hung around his neck, one of the few material objects he had not been able to part with when he arrived at the monastery, he gave a silent prayer of thanks to be reunited with his family and vowed to never leave their side again.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I don't own the Musketeers and any and all typos/mistakes are my own.
> 
> All comments and kudos are well appreciated, and I love hearing what you all thought.  
> Kaze


End file.
